Sam Kelly & The Lost Boys are singing softly while I knit and our oldest reads. He’s reading about a sea voyage where a ship is struck in two. I’m certain there will be a heroic ending (because isn’t there always?!), but he’s biting his nails in anticipation. I’m sure the sea shanties being sung are enlivening his imagination.

I slip one stitch off the needle and whisper softly and slowly.

“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account…”

Another few stitches created. And my mind wanders around the room and makes lists of what needs to stay and what needs to go.

We’ve been making changes slowly here at our house.

Slowly.

Doesn’t that seem to be the word?

As we sit and wait for God to provide the finances for our mission in France, we wait. And we get rid of most of our earthly possessions to be ready.

It’s a slow process, this stripping away of things.

Peeling one layer back at a time.

We have pared back our kitchen to a few dishes, and four gadgets (our instant pot, a toaster, a crock pot, and a blender.) Who knows how long we’ll still be here in the States? It’s slow. We’ve gotten rid of 95% of the baby clothes we had in storage in case another little one gets sent our way.

But there are so many more layers. Our garage is an endless abyss, seemingly.

As we are in the midst of the slow and the wait, we continue to press on. I’ve taken it upon myself to get rid of our possessions, to make us ready at the exact instant God provides the means for our family to begin our ministry in France. It’s all I can do right now. And I need to be doing something.

So I slip some more stitches onto the other needle. Taking off and putting on.

It seems like an endless slow. But as I look back at the scarf that I’m working on, I see how much progress I’ve made in the couple days I’ve worked on it. Each stitch is a sacrifice from one needle and a gain on the other. A laying down of a row and a picking up of the other.

Taking off and putting on.

And my mind slips to some passages of scripture about what I should be taking off and putting on. I know there are about ten or so more passages at least, but these were the ones that came to mind.

Romans 13:12-14 The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy.But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

1 Corinthians 15:53-55 “For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”

Ephesians 4:20-24 “But that is not the way you learned Christ!—assuming that you have heard about him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus,to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires,and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds,and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.”

Today, you may not be getting rid of your earthly possessions, but I’m certain you’re laying something down and picking something else up. Sometimes life can feel monotonous and the wait can be long. Let’s you and I pick up the right things together. Let’s put on Christ.

She sits in her laundry basket in the backyard, quietly breathing in the cool of the summer afternoon. The garden needs tending after a lot of rain has caused a sudden burst of growth. The laundry sways, dancing on the line. Clouds shift and scurry overhead, cooling and heating intermittently. Finches swoop around and about in a mating ritual, while cardinals sing their two-note melody.

One brother is on the deck, inventing a war ship out of a line of rope and a second laundry basket. Another carries a bamboo stick around, enmeshed in his own world, always heroic, always winning, always striving. Until…..a butterfly floats past on the breeze.

His attention is stolen from his world, and he begins to chase the butterfly. Dodging right and left, around apple tree, hither and yon, he pursues…until the butterfly escapes over a high fence. I call him, with low voice beckoning. Come see this miracle. Come slowly, or you’ll miss it. There is a young butterfly near me on the deck, spreading its wings.

He creeps quietly, silently over to the butterfly and watches it as stretches its wings and takes flight. His eyes are enrapt, his posture tense, until the moment of flight.

As he retreated to his bamboo stick and imagination, he spoke to me in passing, “Mom, I guess if you’re quiet and careful you can see him.”

And his words sunk into my heart that has been saddened by so many current events. A heart torn repeatedly.

And it’s not the first time this day that the Holy Spirit has used the small voices around me to speak words of truth.

“If you’re quiet and careful you can see Him.”

And I draw a deep breath and remember the words from Isaiah.

“In repentance and rest you will be saved,In quietness and trust is your strength.”

And I have renewed strength and renewed trust that what is broken can be made whole.

We’ve taken down our Christmas tree. It feels so sacrilegious to breathe a sigh of relief as all remnants of Christmas decor are put away for another year. But the house feels so fresh and clean and void of clutter. Filled with intention and purpose, as it were.

One of our children has been having a very hard time adjusting to the idea of moving far away from grandparents. He’ll be cheered momentarily when we mention skype or that we’ll come back on visits. He’ll even perk up enough that he wants to pack right now and move RIGHT NOW. But then 20 minutes later, his heart will feel crushed, and he’ll start crying.

This is the child who has never had an afghan crocheted for him, so before Christmas he requested that I start an afghan with bright (occasionally garish) colors of his choosing.

I sat thinking about him and praying about him yesterday morning. For crocheting, to me, is a visible reminder of prayers I have prayed for people. Each stitch I bring a new request or a new burden, sometimes a new tear or two to the Father who gives good gifts. “I wish I could wrap my love and security around him as easily as I could wrap this afghan.” “Help him to experience peace and comfort.” And as I was praying for this child, the snow fell, and my tears fell along with the dusty flakes.

“Go outside.” something in my soul stirred. I don’t often feel such soul stirrings, but I ignored it for a while, because the couch was much cozier and convenient.

“Go outside. Your soul is starved.” I felt the prompting again.

It had been days, nearly weeks, since I’d been outside just to appreciate nature, because of inclimate weather and poor health in our family. I finally got up, threw a sweater on, and sat outside next to the Christmas tree that had been deposited a little unceremoniously on our deck. I watched the flakes take refuge in the dried branches and thought to myself, “I should be getting something out of this. Why am I even out here? This is crazy.”

And then I watched the snowflakes more closely. I took note of each one that landed on my jeans and melted, never to be seen again.

And words came. “Each flake, Lord. Each flake does it’s best to bring you glory. It whispers your name, your creativity. But then it melts, and who will remember it? If no one notices a flake, its memory is gone forever.”

And something deep in my soul welled up and reminded me “Does it matter? Does it matter if anyone notices? The God of the universe notices and is pleased with His creation. He is pleased when His creation does its duty and glorifies Him.”

Does it matter if anyone notices?

These thoughts gave me a grander perspective of eternity. Even if no one notices the little things (and big things) our family struggles through or waits for or sacrifices, God notices. It is enough that we obey. It is enough that we are faithful. Now these thoughts may not necessarily help my child who is struggling, but they certainly gave me comfort. Our God is the God Who Sees. He sees each snowflake bringing Him glory before it melts away. He also sees me struggling to hold my child’s heart tenderly and sees me floundering and failing all too often. He sees.